


Shades Of Fine

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-30
Updated: 2008-05-30
Packaged: 2018-08-16 07:44:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8093818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Our intrepid Lieutenant Reed has to play hero once again...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: This story was written for the "I Am Fine Month" (May)  
RoaringMice and Gabi 2305 beta read.  
6 chapters of silliness! :-)  


* * *

Trip watched Malcolm wave a frantic hand in front of his face, warding off a cloud of buzzing insects. In the damp environment of the marshland, miniature flying creatures seemed to thrive.

â€œBugger off,â€ Malcolm cursed under his breath. â€œGo to Mr. Tucker. Heâ€™s the Floridian.â€ 

â€œWhatâ€™s that supposed to mean?â€ Through the flying things, Trip threw the man an indignant glare. â€œI already have my own fair share of the little buggers to deal with,â€ he pretended to complain. He couldnâ€™t even bring his notoriously squeamish self to loathe the creatures, silly as they looked.

These were the kind of circumstances where Trip enjoyed showing more outrage than he felt. Life on a ship in the middle of the universe didnâ€™t offer much in the way of entertainment, and engaging in verbal matches with a certain Lieutenant had become a fun routine. Malcolm â€“ who, in this case, didnâ€™t seem quite as entertained â€“ immediately picked up the gauntlet. 

â€œSurely youâ€™re enjoying this lovely climate and its accoutrements,â€ he replied in open disgust. â€œMake you think of home.â€ 

â€œAh â€“ I donâ€™t like the heat â€˜n humidity any more than you do.â€

Malcolm let out a frustrated groan and took another vain swing at the pesterers. â€œBugger off, I said! What are these things anyway? Theyâ€™re the wrong colour. Whoâ€™s even heard of hot-pink gnats?â€ 

His consonants popped like corks going off, and Trip chuckled. Malcolm could boldly face an army of hostile aliens, valiantly bear to be shot and tortured; but put him in a tropical environment and you were sure to have a very pissed-off Lieutenant on your hands. Trip suspected it had a lot to do with the fact that being drenched in sweat went against Malcolmâ€™s principles of what an officer should look like at all times: perfectly groomed. He studied his friend, and almost felt sorry for the man. 

â€œEasy, Lieutenant,â€ he teased. â€œI doubt yaâ€™d want me to report that our intrepid Security Officer was defeated by a squadron of pink insects.â€

Malcolm sighed in resignation, sweeping a sleeve over his forehead. â€œHow much further to that lake?â€ he breathed out. 

â€œAlmost there.â€ Trip consulted a padd. â€œMaybe another ten minutes. Donâ€™t faint on me now.â€

â€œSpeak for yourself, Iâ€™m fine,â€ was the pissed-off comment. â€œOnly I still donâ€™t see why the Chief Engineer and Security Officer of a ship should be sent on a mission to collect medicinal herbs,â€ Malcolm muttered on, his foul mood returning.

Trip rolled his eyes. â€œBecause half the ship is in bed with that fever,â€ he patiently articulated, as one would with a child. 

This must be the third time since they had left Enterprise that Malcolm had complained about being chosen for this mission. Something was definitely up with him â€“ besides the tropical climate.

â€œWho else could the Captâ€™n have sent?â€ Trip went on. â€œWould you have felt better if heâ€™d picked a couple of inexperienced young crewmen from the botanical or medical departments?â€

Malcolmâ€™s eyes went wide with horror. â€œHeaven help me, no. More likely than not, I wouldâ€™ve had to organise a rescue.â€

â€œYa see?â€

â€œBut Tâ€™Pol is our Science Officer, and sheâ€™s not ill,â€ Malcolm countered doggedly. â€œSheâ€™d certainly have made a better choice than a Chief Engineer...â€

â€œAh â€“ now itâ€™s all clear: youâ€™d have preferred to be sent down with a shapely lady than a sweaty Commander.â€ 

â€œ... or an Armoury Officer.â€ Malcolm half turned to shoot a meaningful look. â€œTrip, even Chef would know more about herbs than you and I.â€

â€œTâ€™Pol would offer a better view, I canâ€™t disagree with ya,â€ Trip went on obliviously. â€œBut she cannot leave the ship, â€˜cause sheâ€™s Actinâ€™ Captain, â€˜cause the Captâ€™n is lying in bed with an icepack on his head, â€˜cause he has a high fever, â€˜cause he caught that bug too, â€˜cause---â€

â€œYes, yes, I know.â€ 

Malcolm passed a hand through his wet hair and Trip wondered if the man knew that it had left it worse than before. Heâ€™d better not mention anything: his friend already sounded annoyed about enough things without attracting his attention to his state of disarray.

â€œSorry,â€ Malcolm muttered after a moment. â€œItâ€™s that MÃ¼ller is also laid up and I donâ€™t like the idea that Iâ€™m here playing botanist while the responsibility of the shipâ€™s defence is in the hands of a crewman.â€

So thatâ€™s what it was. Trip smiled. That was just like Malcolm. 

â€œItâ€™s only for a few hours, nothinâ€™ will happenâ€ he said soothingly. â€œBesides, huntinâ€™ for medicinal plants is whatâ€™s needed right now to save the crew. And savinâ€™ the crew is your job, Lieutenant.â€

A grunt sanctioned Malcolmâ€™s agreement to that.

At least they were walking on dry land â€“ if only a narrow strip flanked by swampy ground. Soon they should see the large expanse of water on the banks of which the plant they were looking for was supposed to grow in abundance. Phlox had been told that it was nearly miraculous in treating the outbreak of Trispian fever that was felling Enterpriseâ€™s crew. The illness was not life-threatening, fortunately, but symptoms were far from pleasant: unfocused eyesight, difficulty of speech and high fever. It had been spreading rather quickly after the Trispian delegation had come onboard, prompting the Doctor to contact one of the biggest hospitals on Trispia for suggestions on how to cure it. They had been given coordinates to a planet in the system â€“ and to a lake on the planet â€“ where they would find the answer to their problems.

â€œSmall, grey, lance-shaped leaves with thin orange stripes and a larger red one down the middle,â€ Malcolm recited, looking around. â€œOught to be quite easy to recognise.â€ 

â€œRubbery texture, growing in clusters on the water edge,â€ Trip added. â€œLetâ€™s not forget that Phlox wants us to bring back some specimens complete with roots; says heâ€™s gonna try re-plantinâ€™ them in the hydroponic bay.â€

â€œGreat,â€ Malcolm muttered under his breath. â€œIâ€™m an Armoury Officer, not a bloody gardener.â€

Trip bit his lower lip. The words had triggered a mental image of Malcolm in a blue apron and rubber boots, watering hose in hand. 

They went through a thick group of willowy trees and suddenly the landscape, which up to that moment had been rather boring, changed dramatically. 

â€œWow, look at that!â€ Trip exclaimed. â€œI think weâ€™re there.â€

An amazing view opened up in front of them, and they stopped dead in their tracks. The lake was quite large, and irregularly shaped. Its milky waters were a strangely attractive shimmering colour which defied definition: something in between grey, green and light blue. All around it grew lush and varied vegetation, an explosion of incredible colours and shapes that reflected in the perfectly still surface, offering a sight that, odd as it looked, any painter would have found hard to resist.

Trip lowered his backpack to the ground and brought a hand to his neck. His muscles had tensed and he could feel a headache developing. The view was too beautiful, though, to pay that much heed.

â€œIâ€™ve gotta immortalise this,â€ he said, reaching for his camera.

The silence was broken only by the soft buzzing of some elongated insects that were clouding around the tall, black-speckled flowers which grew along a stretch of the lake. All in all it made for a lazy mood, and for a moment Trip stood there shooting away, while Malcolm, who had dropped to his haunches, threw little pebbles in the water, breaking the reflected picture into a series of small ripples.

â€œIâ€™m glad those... helicopters over there arenâ€™t buzzing around anything grey and orange,â€ Malcolm commented after a while, jerking his chin in the direction of the droning insects. â€œMy scanner doesnâ€™t show them as being dangerous, but I think it would be wise to keep away from them. They are quite a bit larger and a lot less innocent-looking than their pink friends.â€

â€œAgreed,â€ Trip said, dead serious, repressing a shiver. â€œLetâ€™s take the other bank, then.â€ Reluctantly, he put away the camera and led the way.

The planetâ€™s sun was bright, and the heat and humidity created a hazy atmosphere that blunted the edges of things. 

Trip rubbed his eyes. â€œPurple palm leaves, white bamboo, brownish flowers with yellow dots,â€ he listed as they walked past the strange vegetation. â€œI donâ€™t see anything grey with orange stripes.â€

â€œThe lake is quite large,â€ Malcolm reasoned. â€œItâ€™s going to take us a while to walk its perimeter.â€

â€œYeah.â€

They went on in silence for another stretch, engrossed in the planetâ€™s flora. For some strange reason it seemed to have gathered all of its most vivid specimens in this one spot.

Lifting his gaze, Trip stopped. â€œLook at those birds over there,â€ he said in puzzlement. â€œYouâ€™d think our presence would scare them off, and instead...â€

â€œWhat birds?â€ 

â€œOver there, by those fuzzy mauve bushes.â€

There was a pause.

â€œTrip, those are small rocks.â€ 

Malcolmâ€™s voice was wary, and Trip turned to assessing grey eyes. 

â€œRocks?â€ He turned again to the group of still things off at some distance, squinting. â€œAre you sure?â€

â€œOf course Iâ€™m sure.â€ There was another pause. â€œAre you feeling okay?â€

Trip blinked a couple of times. â€œYeah, just peachy,â€ he said with a smile. â€œThereâ€™s a lot of humidity in the air, canâ€™t see very well in the distance.â€

He made to resume walking but Malcolm grabbed him by an arm, stopping him.

â€œI can see those rocks perfectly well,â€ he said in a meaningful voice. â€œAnd those mauve bushes arenâ€™t fuzzy.â€

They looked at each other in silence. 

â€œHmm,â€ Trip commented with a lopsided smirk. 

Without shifting his gaze from him, Malcolm reached in one of his pockets and produced a medical scanner, which he proceeded to put to good use. He glanced at the readings. The grey eyes, when they lifted, were as veiled as the atmosphere of that planet.

â€œI believe you may be getting it too,â€ Malcolm said with that cool-under-pressure tone of voice that Trip had learned to recognise as a sign that the man was already picturing a set of dreadful scenarios, and figuring out how to react to them.

Trip huffed. â€œLook, we donâ€™t know that,â€ he countered, automatically going, instead, into â€˜optimistic modeâ€™. He took the scanner from Malcolm and checked it: alright, his temperature was slightly higher than normal; just verging on what might be considered fever. Mainly, his headache was now a bothersome presence. He heaved a deep breath. â€œLetâ€™s find that plant and get out of here.â€

â€œYouâ€™re getting out of here now, Commander,â€ Malcolm corrected resolutely, reaching for his communicator.

â€œMalcolm...â€ 

But the man was already paging. 

â€œReed to Enterprise.â€

â€œIâ€™m not leavinâ€™ ya alone on this planet, Lieutenant,â€ Trip said innocently. â€œNo one oughtta be alone on an alien planet. Besides, the transporter is off-line.â€

â€œGo ahead, Lieutenant.â€

Tâ€™Polâ€™s voice came through over Tripâ€™s last words, and Malcolm was left with his mouth agape for a second.

â€œSubcommander,â€ he finally said, shaking himself, â€œweâ€™re facing a situation. I suspect Commander Tucker is beginning to develop Trispian fever. Is the transporter working?â€

â€œNegative, Lieutenant. As you will undoubtedly recall, the edge of that ion storm, yesterday, caused a few systems to overload. The transporter was among them. With more than half the crew indisposed, restoring it was not a top priority for the Engineering department.â€

Trip, who was uncorking his canteen, stopped to glance at Malcolm, raising I-told-you-so eyebrows. 

â€œWell, it is now,â€ Malcolm said firmly. â€œThe closest we could land the pod is at some four hoursâ€™ walk at a brisk pace, and in these conditions of humidity it was an uncomfortable stretch even without a high fever.â€

â€œHas the Commander developed a fever?â€

â€œNot yet, but his temperature is somewhat high and his eyesight is becoming less focused.â€

â€œWeâ€™re just not sure Iâ€™ve got Trispian fever,â€ Trip insisted; but he didnâ€™t sound very convincing to his own ears. In all honesty, it was quite likely he was developing the damn thing.

â€œHow far are you from the location we were given coordinates to?â€ Tâ€™Polâ€™s voice was still perfectly calm. â€œI must remind you that synthesizing that plantâ€™s medicinal property to cure the crew remains, at the moment, our top priority.â€

â€œMakes sense,â€ Trip shrugged, meeting frowning grey eyes. Tâ€™Pol was right. They must find that plant; for his own sake as well as that of his shipmates.

â€œWe are at the lake,â€ Malcolm admitted.

â€œThen find that plant, Lieutenant. I will ask Engineering to begin working to bring the transporter back online.â€

Tâ€™Pol had stopped short of saying â€˜thatâ€™s an orderâ€™, but it was clear enough. Trip watched a wince of unhappiness appear on Malcolmâ€™s face. 

â€œCan you page me through to sickbay, Subcommander?â€ the man asked. â€œI want to get a clear picture of what I am to expect.â€

â€œRight away, Lieutenant.â€

Trip threw one hand up in the air. â€œWeâ€™re wastinâ€™ time,â€ he ranted. â€œIâ€™m feelinâ€™ just fine.â€ 

â€œThe question is, for how long, Comman---â€

â€œYes, Mister Reed,â€ Phloxâ€™s voice interrupted.

â€œDoctor, what exactly are the symptoms of Trispian fever?â€

This was ridiculous. They knew what the symptoms were. Rolling his eyes, Trip waved a beckoning hand and resumed walking. He was going to look for that plant. Casting a look over his shoulder, he saw that Malcolm was absent-mindedly following him. 

â€œUnclear eyesight and headache, followed by scrambled speech, and a rapidly rising temperature,â€ Phlox replied. In a knowing tone, the Doctor enquired, â€œMay I ask why you want to know?â€ 

â€œBecause I believe the Commander has the beginning of it.â€

Trip let the conversation fade in the background, suddenly aware of the fact that, actually, his sight was deteriorating rather quickly. He blinked a couple of times, and rubbed two fingers over his eyes, but things were beginning to appear frighteningly blurred: what, some ten metres away, a few minutes before had been a bush laden with small berries, now was a rather indistinct smudge of colours. Well, there was nothing they could do about it; so, knowing Mal, he might as well keep his worries to himself. He lowered his eyes and focused them closer, where things were still relatively clear.

â€œThank you, Doctor.â€ 

Trip heard Malcolm, behind him, flip the communicator shut and zip up his pocket. A moment later the man had come up to his side. â€œDonâ€™t forget to tell me if you feel youâ€™re getting any worse,â€ he said meaningfully.

â€œAs long as I can,â€ Trip joked, feigning a light-heartedness he didnâ€™t feel. â€œScrambled speech is supposed to be the next symptom.â€

â€œVery funny,â€ Malcolm grunted.

They continued their search in silence. At least the pink gnats had disappeared.

 

Â§2Â§

Half an hour later it had become hard for Trip to distinguish his own feet. And he had felt a few telling shivers run down his back. Dammit, but maybe it was time to inform Malcolm. 

He was about to speak, when Malcolm exclaimed, â€œThere! Finally!â€ and veered towards the waterâ€™s edge. â€œPlenty of it, too,â€ his voice floated back, from some distance off to Tripâ€™s left.

Malcolm had â€“ supposedly â€“ just walked a few metres away, but he might as well have been transported off the planet, because as far as Trip was concerned he had disappeared completely. Tripâ€™s heart began to thump; without the presence of anyone right there beside him, he was suddenly feeling irrationally alone and vulnerable.

â€œM---â€

Great. And now his tongue seemed unable to form words. Trip felt his breathing accelerate.

â€œM---Malcolm...â€ 

In the matter of seconds the man was back in front of him. His face was just a blurred oval, but Trip knew exactly what kind of expression would be on it.

â€œWhat is it?â€ he asked in a taut voice.

Trip saw a shadow move from left to right and back. A hand, being waved in front of him. 

â€œTrip, can you see me?â€

â€œBare---â€

There was a perplexed pause.

â€œI beg your pardon?â€

Trip squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. â€œB---barely.â€

â€œOh.â€

Yeah, well, what did ya think? 

â€œOh, damn,â€ Malcolm cursed under his breath. 

The buzzing of a medical scanner was the next thing Trip knew.

â€œYour temperature has risen considerably,â€ Malcolm said in a controlled tone. â€œI should say your symptoms are unmistakable.â€ 

Trip grimaced. No use trying to deny it. â€œFunderwall.â€ Rolling his eyes, he let out a dramatic sigh. â€œW---wonderful.â€

â€œIndeed.â€

Malcolmâ€™s hand closed around his arm. 

â€œLet me guide you to that tree over there; itâ€™s just a few metres off to the right,â€ he said, in the voice of one who was putting his wheels in motion. â€œIâ€™ll collect those bloody plants, and then Iâ€™ll page Enterprise. Perhaps whoever is left standing in Engineering will have fixed the transporter by now.â€

â€œâ€™kay.â€ 

Feeling like a swaggering drunk, Trip let Malcolm pull him along and tottered on. He had never really stopped to think what a terrible handicap losing your sight was. The world had suddenly turned into a frightening place. 

â€œThe symptoms should revert once Phlox synthesizes that drug,â€ Malcolm was saying, in an awkward attempt at comforting him. â€œYouâ€™ll be fine, uhm, eventually.â€ 

Malcolm was definitely better at blowing holes in enemy ships than offering verbal support. Trip wondered if the man was aware of how tense his voice was. 

â€œI soap ho. I meanâ€¦â€ 

â€œYes, yes,â€ Malcolm butted in nervously. â€œI get it.â€

Trip groaned: this was bordering on ridiculous. And, actually, he wasnâ€™t concerned about the eventually: he was concerned about the now. For here he was, on an alien planet and almost totally disabled. Malcolm had suddenly been weighed down with a lot more responsibility; and, what was worse, he was pretty sure it would take Engineering a good few hours to restore the transporter to working order. That ion storm had done quite a bit of damage to it. 

â€œHere.â€

Malcolm took his hand and put it to a scaly surface.

â€œWhy donâ€™t you sit down against this tree while I get the job done, Commander? Iâ€™ll try to be quick.â€

Trip nodded and let himself slide down, with his back against the trunk. He perceived a shadow beside him, and forced a lukewarm smile on his lips. â€œSsss---sorry.â€

â€œNot your fault.â€ 

Something was put into his right hand. 

â€œHere is your canteen,â€ Malcolm said. â€œYou should drink to keep your fluid levels up.â€ Squeezing Tripâ€™s shoulder as he stood up again, he muttered, â€œI wonâ€™t be long.â€ A moment later he had disappeared from view, leaving Trip alone in his colourful fog.

Trip hugged himself tightly, fighting back the shivers that his rising temperature was causing him. His eyes wanted to drift closed, the tiredness that comes with illness already setting in, and he almost let them â€“ after all, they were of little use to him at the moment â€“ stopping at the last moment: he should make every effort to keep alert, helpless as he was. Malcolmâ€™s footsteps had quickly faded away, and the silence was suddenly rather frightening. Here he was, totally alone, unaware of threats that may surround him. Not to mention that if something happened to Malcolm he wouldnâ€™t even realise it, let alone be able to help out. Nothing will happen, weâ€™re on an uninhabited planet â€“ he told himself, taking a few deep breaths to fight his irrational fear. 

Malcolm must have been gone for no longer than ten, fifteen minutes, but it felt like ages. Finally there was the sound of footsteps.

â€œItâ€™s me, Commander.â€

Trip frowned. Their Armoury Officer never used that deep a timbre without a good reason. Well, the present circumstances probably warranted it. 

There was a slow and controlled exhalation as Malcolm lowered himself and re-entered Tripâ€™s reduced sight-range.

â€œDone?â€ Trip asked, straightening. Heâ€™d better keep to monosyllables.

â€œYes.â€

Malcolm, on the other hand, had no need toâ€¦ Trip waited for more, and when it didnâ€™t come he wondered about the negative vibes he was beginning to get. Malcolm was a man of few words, but this seemed a bit too terse even for him. A moment later a pocket was being unzipped and a communicator flicked open.

â€œReed to Enterprise.â€

Malcolm definitely sounded off-colour. Worried. Yeah, worried. Normal, for the man â€“ Trip reassured himself.

Tâ€™Polâ€™s voice rang out without delay. â€œGo ahead, Lieutenant.â€

â€œI have the specimens. Has Engineering repaired the transporter?â€

â€œNot yet. They are working at it, but both Lieutenant Hess and Ensign Rostov are now ill. Engineering is severely understaffed. Doctor Phlox and I seem to be immune to the sickness, but it is spreading rapidly among the crew. I need not tell you that the sooner you bring back the medicinal plant the better, Lieutenant.â€

There was a pause. Trip could not see Malcolmâ€™s expression, but he watched him hang his head, and that spoke plenty. 

â€œCommander Tucker has developed a fever, Subcommander,â€ the man said, in a frustrated voice. â€œHis sight and speech are severely impaired. Our way back to the Shuttlepod is going to be slow and difficult.â€

Trip shook his head. â€œIâ€™ll be okay,â€ he butted in, trying not to sound as tired as he felt. â€œIâ€™ll just need a hit of belt to---â€ Dammit. A bit of help, a bit of help â€“ not that difficult. 

â€œWe have no choice, Mr. Reed,â€ Tâ€™Pol came back, in her usual unruffled tone. â€œThe moment the transporter is back online I will inform you, of course.â€

There was another pause. A dark â€˜Understoodâ€™ ended the communication.

Malcolm heaved a breath and let it out slowly. â€œAll right, Commander, we have our orders,â€ he said quietly. â€œLet me know when you need thatâ€¦ hit of belt.â€

Trip groaned and shook his head again, laboriously starting to pick himself up. A hand came to rest on his elbow, guiding him, and he was grateful for it, for actually he felt quite wobbly. Sure enough, as soon as he had gained an upright position he almost lost his balance. Malcolm hurried to steady him and Trip ended up grabbing his arm, eliciting a quick intake of breath.

Frowning in surprise, Trip squinted, but Malcolm remained an indistinct shape. Well, he may have a fever, but there had been no mistaking the sound of that. 

â€œWhatâ€™s wrong?â€ Trip enquired. 

â€œNothing,â€ was the predictable reply. Malcolm cleared his throat. â€œIt looks like you need that â€˜bit of helpâ€™ right now.â€

â€œDonâ€™t try to play fool with me, Lieutenant.â€ Trip went for his command tone, glad that his tongue was suddenly collaborating. â€œThat was a piss of hain.â€ Yeah, right.

â€œA piss of what, Commander?â€ 

The smile in Malcolmâ€™s voice was unmistakable. 

â€œY---you know,â€ Trip grunted in frustration. But of course, if it had been a hiss of pain the stubborn man would never admit it. 

â€œLook, Iâ€™m fine,â€ Malcolm, indeed, insisted as he took Tripâ€™s arm and put it across his shoulders. â€œYou grabbed me too tightly, thatâ€™s all. Letâ€™s stop wasting breath: weâ€™ll need all of it.â€ Without another word he started them on their way back. 

Trip wasnâ€™t at all convinced and wanted to reply that he was no idiot, but he was too sick to argue. He gave up and staggered along rigidly. Seeing nothing but blurred colours and shapes didnâ€™t quite make for a relaxed gait. Gawd, he really didnâ€™t feel up to a long walk; and his head was killing him.

Maybe twenty minutes later Malcolm stopped abruptly.

â€œListen, Commander,â€ he said in a clipped accent which was somewhat spoiled by gasps of breathlessness. â€œI realise this must be difficult for you, but worry not, I wonâ€™t let you smash into a tree: so, would you pl-ease stop walking as if I were dragging you to your execution? Or as if your legs were in casts? For heavenâ€™s sake, youâ€™re making me work twice as hard!â€

â€œYa wanna cryâ€¦ try what itâ€™s like?â€ Trip bit back. â€œI canâ€™t see a fig fatâ€¦ a big batâ€¦ aâ€¦ nothinâ€™!â€ he grunted, giving up. Wincing, he pressed two fingers on his throbbing temples. 

There was a pause and then a muttered apology. â€œSorry,â€ Malcolm croaked out. â€œAre you in pain?â€ 

He still soundedâ€¦ well, off. Something was fishy, Trip felt sure of it: Malcolm was usually much more in control of himself, especially under pressure. Trip wished he could get the damn man to tell him what was going on with him. Didnâ€™t Malcolm realise that it was hard enough for him without having to worry about what else might be wrong?

â€œTrip?â€

At least for once it was Trip and not Commander. â€œHeadache,â€ Trip groaned.

â€œLet me give you something for it.â€

There were sounds of Malcolm rummaging through the backpack. Then a cold something was put to Tripâ€™s neck; the hiss of a hypospray followed. The waves of pain gradually subsided, and Trip released a slow breath. 

â€œBetter?â€ Malcolm asked quietly and somewhat contritely.

â€œYeah.â€

A canteen was pressed into Tripâ€™s hand. â€œHave some more water.â€ 

Trip didnâ€™t need to be asked twice. He was quite thirsty, and drank greedily. Now, if only he could collapse somewhere and get a few hours of sleep... He was exhausted and his brain was under water. There was no way heâ€™d make it all the way back to the pod. He needed to convince Malcolm to leave him behind and come back for him once---

â€œShall we go?â€ 

Malcolm was already taking the flask from his hands. 

â€œWaitâ€¦â€ Trip caught his arm, to make his argument more convincing, and Malcolmâ€™s breath hitched again. This was too much. Trip tried to hold on to the man, but Malcolm quickly slipped out of his grasp. He resorted to fix no-nonsense, if unclear, eyes on him and grunted, â€œNow, crop the catâ€¦â€ â€“ Damn that stupid illness â€“ â€œCut the crap. What the hell is wrong with you, Lieutenant? Sneak! Speak! Thatâ€™s an order!â€

There was beat of silence; then a soft snort.

â€œIt seems quite obvious that you are in no condition to be in command, Commander,â€ Malcolm retorted innocently. Trip could see enough to know that the man was carefully keeping out of his reach. â€œTherefore, Iâ€™m giving the orders here,â€ he concluded just as candidly.

â€œOh, yeah?â€ Trip bit back. â€œI donâ€™t stink... think...â€ 

And now laughter â€“ of all things.

â€œAllow me to disagree, Commander. You do stink,â€ was the amused comment. â€œBloody hell, you do. Not that I must smell like a rose, either.â€ 

Trip blinked, cursing his sight, his fever, and his swimming thoughts, which undoubtedly altered his perception of things. This, though, was, all of a sudden, a different type of Malcolm; and, more worriedly, even weirder than the Malcolm who lost control; quite unlike the Malcolm heâ€™d expect under the circumstances. A knot formed in his stomach.

â€œCome on,â€ the man said, still chuckling. He put Tripâ€™s arm across his shoulder. â€œI suppose itâ€™s a good thing Tâ€™Pol didnâ€™t come on this mission after all: sheâ€™d have fainted by now, with either one of us.â€

Only half listening to Malcolmâ€™s light-hearted words, Trip let himself be dragged along: it would take too much effort to offer resistance. Heâ€™d do what he could to keep upright, and thenâ€¦ then, once he collapsed for good, Malcolm would have to listen to him.

 

Â§3Â§

Theyâ€™d been going for about another thirty minutes when Tripâ€™s legs finally gave out. He slipped out of Malcolmâ€™s grip and collapsed with a moan, rolling off the path and finding himself leaning with both hands elbow-deep in marshy ground. Only the idea of lying in muddy water and possibly drowning in little more than a puddle stopped him from collapsing any further. 

A moment later there was a splash, and Trip knew Malcolm had dropped down beside him. They were both out of breath, and for a long moment neither spoke.

â€œLovely,â€ Malcolm finally breathed out. â€œMud baths may be fine with those grouchy aliens we met, but â€“ and I donâ€™t know about you â€“ I still prefer a proper shower.â€ He paused, and Trip heard some splashing as the man shifted position. â€œYou ought to see yourself, Commander,â€ he added with a snort. â€œYouâ€™re a sight! Not that you could see yourself, even if you could. See â€“ that is.â€ There was a chuckle. â€œWell, you know what I mean.â€ He cleared his throat, regaining some seriousness. â€œSorry. I think it was that damn...â€ He caught himself and trailed off.

Oh, no. Definitely not the right Malcolm. With an effort Trip lifted his head, trying to see through the fog of his brain and of his eyes. Not a chance: his friend was still an indistinct shape. Blinking away a few drops of sweat, for he was too weary to dry them with his sleeve, he wished this was a bad dream he could wake up from. 

â€œBugger off, you unlikely creatures, or I might be tempted to use my phase pistol on you,â€ Malcolm said, in a low voice that had once again the outraged edge of a couple of hours before. For Tripâ€™s sake he added, â€œThose blighted pink insects are here again.â€ 

Trip perceived him raise a quick arm to wave the things off, only to drop it abruptly and double over it with a muffled cry. The sight, blurred as it was, sent enough adrenaline through his veins to make him find the energy to speak. 

â€œHave you journeyed your ram?â€ he blurted out. 

â€œNo,â€ was the immediate, nonsensical reply.

â€œArmed your... injured your arm?â€ Trip finally managed. He groped about for his friend. If he had to rely on touch to know what was going on, so be it.

With some loud splashing, Malcolm scampered back, once again out of reach. â€œIâ€™m fine,â€ he said irritably.

Stubborn bastard. Tripâ€™s hand fell back into the water. He just didnâ€™t have it in him to argue. Time to give the Lieutenant that order, before he lost it completely.

â€œLook, I canâ€™t go on,â€ he said, putting as much urgency in the words as his feeble state allowed him. â€œYou need to heave me.â€ Oh, for heavenâ€™s sake!

There was a puzzled pause.

â€œBloody hell, Trip. Weâ€™re still far away from the pod and youâ€™re quite heavy,â€ Malcolm muttered uneasily. â€œWeâ€™ll rest a bit and then---â€

Trip groaned in frustration, cutting him off. â€œLeave me: you need to leave me here,â€ he forced out. â€œYouâ€™ll come back for me when Grudge has eloped with the fox.â€ Yeah, right.

There was another pause.

â€œIf you mean when â€˜Phlox has developed the drugâ€™,â€ Malcolm said with surprising insight, â€œyou may as well forget it, Commander.â€

Trip felt his head fall forward. This was surreal. â€œThatâ€™s an order, Lieutenant,â€ he insisted weakly. At least that had come out properly. He was genuinely impressed by Malcolmâ€™s perspicacity, though.

â€œHa! And what happened to: â€˜No one ought to be left alone on an alien planet?â€™â€ Malcolm countered without delay, and with a snigger. â€œGotcha, Commander,â€ he ended with more gusto than their predicament would have warranted. 

There was more splashing. Raising his head, Trip watched Malcolmâ€™s shape wade back towards him, on his knees. 

â€œCome on,â€ the man said resolutely. â€œLetâ€™s get back onto dry ground. I have no special inclination to turn into peat.â€

He grabbed him under his arms and lifted them both up, not without a repressed groan that sounded, once again, suspiciously like pain.

Trip let him. What else could he do? Somewhere, somehow, he found a bit of strength, and they splashed their way back to the path, where he managed to promptly stumble and collapse again. 

Lying down was much too good. Trip let his eyes drift closed and could no longer fight the blissful pulling of unconsciousness.

 

As she walked to sickbay, Tâ€™Pol was suddenly struck with the notion that she had hardly met a crewman in the corridors. Of course she knew the situation; she was constantly updated as to the number of casualties Trispian fever was making among the crew: forty-six people at last count â€“ fifty-four-point-seventy-six percent of Enterpriseâ€™s complement; but it was still a surprise to actually notice the fact that the ship was becoming severely understaffed. 

Engineering was somewhat of a problem. The department had been particularly affected, and if she werenâ€™t Vulcan Tâ€™Pol would have admitted to herself that she was beginning to experience some concern. Not so much for what concerned the current operation of the vessel, for there was little to do while orbiting a planet, but for all those more or less minor problems the ion storm had caused, which needed to be attended to; and especially for the transporterâ€™s function, because they needed to get that medicinal plant onboard as soon as possible. 

Sickbay was quite crowded; certainly as crowded as Tâ€™Pol could ever remember seeing it. And most of the sick were not even there, having been sent to their quarters. The Doctor was keeping only the cases he feared were in danger of complications. 

Stopping just inside the doors, Tâ€™Pol crossed her arms loosely across her chest and surveyed the large room. All the beds in sight were occupied; a few were behind privacy curtains. Phlox was off to one side instructing a group of medics who were to do the rounds and report on the outside patients; he sounded rather flustered. Indeed, he must be beginning to feel the pressure.

â€œâ€¦Check that they have drunk the liquids as they were supposed to and give a hypospray of Anaprovalin to those with a fever of over 103Â°,â€ Phlox was saying. â€œIf Ensign MÃ¼ller complains once more that he mustâ€¦ â€˜serene his gaitâ€™ orâ€¦ â€˜recite his gainâ€™ to be of any use shooting a phase pistol, tell him to stop worrying: Trispian doctors have promised all patients would regain their sight, once given the drug.â€ 

The medics nodded and made to go. 

â€œOh,â€ Phlox added, stopping them, â€œAnd donâ€™t let Crewman Rostov fool you into believing he is well enough toâ€¦â€ â€“ he shrugged irritably â€“ â€œâ€˜pork on the transwarterâ€™: the department can survive without him for the time being.â€

Tâ€™Polâ€™s eyebrows lifted dramatically. Faces tightened to keep, supposedly, smiles at bay. One of the medics replied, â€œYes, Doctor,â€ and they finally left.

â€œSubcommander,â€ Phlox said darkly, turning to acknowledge her presence. â€œI do hope you havenâ€™t come to tell me that youâ€™re not feeling well.â€

Tâ€™Pol uncrossed her arms and took a couple of steps closer. â€œI wanted to inform you that there are three Engineers working at making the transporter serviceable again. Provided they do not becomeâ€¦ indisposed as well, they ought to be able to restore the device in the matter of a few hours.â€

Phlox jerked his head back. â€œIndisposed. Thatâ€™s one way of putting it,â€ he muttered. â€œWell, not a moment too soon. Itâ€™s getting to the point I might have to use a UT to understand my patients!â€

â€œPerhaps Ensign Sato could assist you,â€ Tâ€™Pol suggested. 

She really should have thought of it before. The linguist was currently spending her time perfecting her knowledge of the Trispian language, but maybe she could be put to better use.

â€œAh,â€ Phlox said with a dismissive wave of the hand.

Tâ€™Pol chose to disregard that uncharacteristically gruff gesture. Phlox was obviously not in the best of moods. â€œHow is the Captain?â€ she instead enquired. Archer had given in to Trispian fever a couple of days before.

â€œIâ€™m keeping his fever within reasonable levels, but he tripped over Porthos the last time he got up to go to the lavatory, and added a lovely bump on his forehead to the list of his complaints.â€ Phlox sighed. â€œI told him to call for help when he needs to get up.â€

â€œPerhaps you ought to remove Porthos from his quarters.â€

â€œIâ€™d rather not. Pets are known to have a positive influence over people who are unwell. Unfortunately Porthos is no linguist either.â€ Phlox let out a mirthless snort. â€œâ€˜No peas Chorthosâ€™ left the poor thing quite puzzled; not that I was any quicker to understand when the Captain asked, â€˜Are Prit and Falcon mine down on that planet?â€™â€

â€œI am relieved Vulcan physiology seems to be immune to this particular disease,â€ Tâ€™Pol commented with another lift of her eyebrows.

â€œIndeed.â€ 

Phlox pulled a drawer and got a hypospray, which he proceeded to load. â€œSo, how are Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed down on that planet?â€ he asked. â€œThe Captain is not the only one concerned about them; now that I know that Mr. Reed thought the Commander was getting sick, I am a bit worried too.â€

â€œThe Commander has got sick, Doctor,â€ Tâ€™Pol said, repressing a sigh. 

Phlox shot her a dark look. â€œWell, in that case, Subcommander, I believe we shall need the transporter to work soon. And for more than just to restore this crew to health.â€

 

Â§4Â§

â€œYes?â€ 

The voice that floated out of the comm. link was not immediately recognisable as that of Lieutenant Malcolm Reed. Tâ€™Pol exchanged a puzzled glance with Doctor Phlox.

â€œLieutenant?â€ she enquired, against all logic: after all, she had paged Lieutenant Reed.

â€œI suppose so, unless Iâ€™ve received a promotion Iâ€™m not aware of,â€ came back with a chuckle. 

â€œLieutenant, are you well?â€

â€œOh, blimey, you too. Iâ€™m fine,â€ Reed now unmistakably replied, with a sigh that was not lost on his removed audience.

Tâ€™Pol briefly met Phloxâ€™s corrugated expression. Deciding it would be pointless to pursue the subject of Reedâ€™s wellbeing with the man, she moved on to the next obvious question. 

â€œHow is the Commander?â€

â€œAsleep.â€

â€œAsleep.â€

â€œYes. You know â€“ into a state of sleep; lost to the world and snoring.â€ There was a perceptible snort. â€œThough in Tripâ€™s current case itâ€™s more like: â€˜not alert enough to function or operate properlyâ€™.â€

â€œHave you measured Mr. Tuckerâ€™s temperature?â€ Phlox butted in, exchanging another odd glance with the Vulcan. Tâ€™Pol let her eyebrows speak for her: indeed this was not their typical and proper Armoury and Security Officer.

Reed snorted again. â€œLetâ€™s seeâ€¦ in between acting as a tree to give him some shade, and a fan to keep psychedelic insects out of his hair, I managed to do that, yes.â€

In what Tâ€™Pol thought was a rather senseless gesture, considering Reed could not see them, Phlox waved a hand in circular motion, finally prompting, â€œAnd?â€ 

â€œAnd he had the bloody thing. It was 104Â° and rising.â€ 

â€œMr. Reed,â€ the Doctor said firmly. â€œI want you to give Commander Tucker a shot of Anaprovalin. You should have five doses of it in the med---â€

â€œPlease, Doctor: I have already injected him,â€ Reed cut him off, sounding almost offended. â€œI do remember my field medicine training. And indeed the Commanderâ€™s temperature has begun to drop.â€ 

â€œVery well,â€ Tâ€™Pol said. Closing her eyes briefly, she savoured the moment of suspension those simple but effective words had brought about. Then she filled her lungs with air, preparing herself to add the next part, hoping that this uncharacteristic version of their Armoury Officer would accept it with less reluctance than his normal self would. 

â€œNow, Lieutenant, please take medical readings of yourself and transfer them to Enterprise.â€

â€œSubcommander,â€ an unperturbed voice replied. â€œI fail to see why I should do that, since I just told you that Iâ€™m fine. Itâ€™s not logical, if youâ€™ll allow meâ€

Tâ€™Pol had a sudden urge for her quarters and her candles. â€œBecause itâ€™s an order Mr. Reed,â€ she calmly replied.

There was a beat of silence.

â€œNonsense. Got to go. Talk to you later. Cheerio.â€ 

â€œLieutenant,â€ Tâ€™Pol called, louder than her Vulcan restraint ought to have allowed. There was no reply: the link had been cut off. A small knot of irritation formed in Tâ€™Polâ€™s stomach, and she endeavoured to keep the emotion off her face. Tonight she must definitely find time to meditate. 

She turned to Phlox. â€œWhat is your professional opinion of Mr. Reedâ€™s behaviour, Doctor?â€ 

â€œItâ€™s rather obvious that he isnâ€™t at all fine,â€ Phlox said with a hint of annoyance. â€œUnfortunately, Subcommander, there is nothing you or I can do about him at the moment. Youâ€™d better concentrate on getting the transporter working as soon as possible.â€ Putting a gentle hand to her back, he started herding her towards the doors. â€œYouâ€™ll have to forgive me, but I have closer â€“ and more collaborative â€“ patients to take care of.â€ 

â€œOf course.â€

As Tâ€™Pol left sickbay to return to Engineering, she was once again deeply grateful for Vulcan and Denobulan physiology.

 

With no real wind in its sails, the boat was drifting along at a leisurely speed, but it was still enough to make Trip feel a pleasant breeze on his hot skin, as he lazily lay sprawled on the deck, soaking up the sun. Eyes squeezed shut against the glare, he followed the path that a series of black dots made across the backdrop of his eyelids, floating in a steady progress from left to right. He was thirsty. Maybe heâ€™d ask Natalie to bring him a drink.

â€œHey, sweetheart, mind singing me a brip of somethinâ€™?â€ 

â€œI seriously doubt youâ€™d want me to, darling,â€ a sarcastic voice that hardly fitted Tripâ€™s mental image of Natalie responded. â€œEven provided I knew what a brip is.â€ 

Trip blinked his eyes open. Cotton wool surrounded him but a shape was there, and it definitely wasnâ€™t that of Natalie. In a flash, it all came back to him. Well, at least he could be sure the girl hadnâ€™t suddenly turned into a baritone. Too bad, though: heâ€™d take a baritone Natalie and the sailboat over Malcolm and this planet any day. 

Groaning, he brought a hand to his eyes. â€œS---ssip of somethinâ€™,â€ he mumbled. â€œThirsty.â€ He was given the canteen, and drank a good few mouthfuls before relinquishing it to Malcolmâ€™s pressing hand. 

â€œYouâ€™d better keep some for later,â€ Malcom warned.

As he let him reclaim the flask, Trip fought to become a little bit more focused, at least mentally. Clear thinking was something else, but he managed to wonder if Malcolm himself had drunk any water at all lately, or was being his usual stoic self. 

â€œYou trink doo,â€ he said firmly.

â€œNo need to be offensive.â€ 

A moment later a hand patted Trip on the shoulder. â€œDonâ€™t worry about me, Commander. I can take care of myself,â€ Malcolm said with a tight giggle.

Yeah, sure. Trip straightened. He was still feeling rotten but somewhat better than before; at least his headache was gone. Miracles of rest and drugs. Malcolm, on the other hand, sounded definitely off kilter.

Trip stretched his sore limbs. â€œHave I leapt song?â€

â€œWhat? Really, Trip. Iâ€™m beginning to regret not bringing along a UT.â€ But then Malcolm immediately added, â€œNot too long. About one hour.â€ 

There was a grunt as the man shouldered what looked like their backpack. â€œReady to resume our nice little walk?â€ he asked, reaching to help Trip up.

Trip smirked. No, he wasnâ€™t. The problem was convincing Malcolm about it.

â€œYou go,â€ he said resolutely. â€œYour duty is to crave the shoe... shave the... save the crew,â€ he finally managed. â€œIâ€™m downing you slow.â€ Just great. It sounded real convincing.

Another giggle floated back. â€œIâ€™m craving a shower more than a shoe, believe me. As for shaving the crew, Iâ€™m not sure Hoshi would appreciate that. Come on.â€

Trip let out a growl of frustration, starting to push Malcolm away, but the man whacked his hand, freezing him with surprise. 

â€œShut up and give me a hand here,â€ Malcolm said. He snorted. â€œAll right, I just smacked it, so I canâ€™t blame you if you donâ€™t want to.â€ The next moment he was pulling him up. Trip hung on to whatever he found, and the yelp of pain that ensued told him it was Malcolmâ€™s arm again. A colourful curse followed.

â€œWhat?â€ Trip demanded.

In between hisses and groans, Malcolm choked out, â€œI said: bloody, detestable, ugly---â€

â€œThe cream of spain,â€ Trip cut him off. â€œI mean, scream of pain: whatâ€™s wrong?â€ He groped about, determined to find Malcolmâ€™s arm again, and when he did there was another holler. Malcolm made to pull away from his probing touch, but Trip managed to hold on and felt about, ignoring the string of foul words that was now coming steadily his way: Malcolm had rolled up his sleeves, and his left arm was noticeably swollen and warm, though Trip couldnâ€™t find any injury on it.

â€œDamnit, Malcolm,â€ Trip himself cursed, finally letting go of him. â€œWhatâ€™s with your arm?â€ â€“ Incredible, one whole intelligible sentence.

â€œNothing, itâ€™s just a scratch,â€ the man choked out.

Trip rolled his foggy eyes. â€œYeah. And Iâ€™m a pant elephink.â€ 

â€œAs long as you arenâ€™t a pink gnat,â€ Malcolm promptly commented, through gritted teeth. â€œWeâ€™ve got too many of those already.â€ 

Trip heaved a deep breath. â€œIâ€™m serious.â€

â€œSo am I, believe me.â€

Heâ€™d never get this Malcolm to tell him how he had injured himself. Trip hung his head. However, he might still be able to convince him that his first duty was to the crew. â€œGet goinâ€™, Lieutenant. Iâ€™m in no shape to walz... walk.â€ Oh, damnation! His brain was beginning to swim again.

Malcolm chuckled. â€œAll right, no walzes, only tangos.â€ Grabbing him once again, he started to pull up. â€œCome on,â€ he said. â€œI will save the crew and you, Commander.â€ Innocently he added, â€œAnd thatâ€™s an order.â€ 

 

Â§5Â§

Time had passed, Trip could not tell how much. He had been zoning in and out but had dragged himself forward, one blind step after the other, leaning more and more heavily on Malcolm. 

Enjoying a rare moment of semi-clear thinking, Trip reasoned that his fever must be up again with a vengeance. Indeed his heart was beating loudly in his ears, sending pain lancing through his skull with every throb.

Malcolm hadnâ€™t been particularly talkative, as far as Tripâ€™s fuzzy memory suggested, but no wonder: if the manâ€™s laboured breathing was anything to go by, he was struggling too; and Trip wouldnâ€™t be surprised if his injury, whatever its nature, had become infected and had given him a fever as well. Trip could feel Malcolmâ€™s uniform under the arm he had across his friendâ€™s shoulder, and it was drenched in sweat. Not that his own was much drier. 

â€œDonâ€™t worry, Sir,â€ Malcolm suddenly slurred, bringing Trip back from his musings. â€œWeâ€™ll be fine.â€

â€œWhat?â€ Trip turned unseeing eyes towards him. â€œD---drip thisâ€¦ drop this nonsense about rank, Malcolm,â€ he breathed out. He used up half the already limited amount of air in his lungs in the process, but this silly obsession with form really bugged him, considering their predicament.

There was a huff. â€œI was taught not to fraternise with superior officers, Captain.â€

What?

â€œDonâ€™t worry, Sir,â€ Malcolm repeated, panting. â€œIâ€™ll bring back the plant and the Commander. I wonâ€™t let you down, Sir. Itâ€™ll be ok.â€

Trip silently cursed, concern exploding in his gut. If Malcolm lost it altogether, they would be in very deep trouble. The man seemed less light-hearted, and especially a lot less steady on his feet. In fact they were both swaying dangerously, risking collapse with every new step.

â€œâ€™s not too far now,â€ Malcolm mumbled, his voice not much louder than a hoarse whisper.

Damnit. He shouldnâ€™t have mentioned that. The thought of the distance that still remained to walk seemed to break the fragile mechanism that had made Tripâ€™s legs work almost automatically for the past whatever minutes, and he stumbled, yearning for rest.

â€œThis isnâ€™t a good time for collapsing, Sir,â€ Malcolm growled, voice fraught with despair and stubbornness in open struggle with each other. The latter won and he managed to keep them upright, and on course.

Trip wanted to say something, even only a â€˜sorryâ€™, but it would take too much effort and concentration, two things he was rather short of at the moment.

And so they staggered on in silence. 

 

The next thing Trip knew, he was coming to. As conscious thought returned, he mused that logic dictated he must have passed out at some point. He felt still a bit confused but his fever was down again, which was probably thanks to another shot of something that Malcolm must have administered at some point. But when he cracked his eyes open, he collided against the grim realisation that he could no longer make out shapes and colours: he was in almost total darkness, surrounded by a sea of grey. His heart clenched painfully.

â€œM---Malcolm?â€ he called, voice wavering beyond control. 

Silence. 

Trip felt a wave of panic swell within him. Biting his lip hard, he made an effort to clamp down on it, but he knew it would only be a matter of time before he lost his battle against it. Not knowing where Malcolm was, what had happened to him, or even what was around him... 

â€œM---Malcolm!â€ he called again, desperate to feel less alone. His voice came back to him with a different ring to it. Something felt strange, not like before. It was colder. And the surface he was lying on was... Suddenly there was a rumbling sound, which made him jump a mile. Then the ground trembled under his butt, and if heâ€™d felt a modicum of energy he would have jumped again, this time for joy.

â€œHold on, Commander,â€ Malcolmâ€™s voice finally was heard saying. â€œWeâ€™re bleeding off this lifty planet.â€

Oh, no! Tripâ€™s relief was cancelled in an instant by the shot of adrenaline which coursed through his body, reviving him instantly. 

â€œMal--- Malcolm, no!â€ he cried out. â€œYouâ€™ve caught it too! You canâ€™t ship a fly... flip a shy... fly a ship if youâ€™re half blind!â€ Groping about he found one of the rear benches and laboriously pulled himself up, trying to point himself in the right direction: bow.

A smug laughter floated back. â€œSick bat, Commander, and enjoy the rude smithes,â€ Malcolm said, his lightheartedness back.

Sit back might be no problem â€“ Trip mused, already feeling wobbly on his legs â€“ as for the smooth ride... he seriously doubted it. But as it was the pod was already airborne. Tripâ€™s hands found the back of one of the seats behind the helm, and he managed to slide into it, praying that they might make it home in one piece.

 

The transporter console reminded Tâ€™Pol of a wounded animal. Wires were hanging loose and pieces were scattered on the floor. Three red-piped uniformed men were working at it, sleeves rolled up, looking tired and at a loss.

â€œCrewman Swenson,â€ Tâ€™Pol said, addressing the man in charge. â€œWhat is the status of the transporter?â€ She didnâ€™t remember ever asking such an absurd question - the status of the transporter was in front of her eyes - and she briefly wondered if Trispian fever wasnâ€™t beginning to affect her too, just in a different way from her human crewmates.

The man, a short, stocky red-head who was crouching at the foot of the machine, turned very blue eyes up to her. â€œThe more we work to fix it, the more we realise just how broken it is, Maâ€™am,â€ he said, wearily pushing to his feet. â€œVirtually every circuit board was damaged. I expect weâ€™ll need minimum another couple of hours.â€

â€œIt is of vital importance that it is restored as soon as possible,â€ Tâ€™Pol said. She hoped her choice of words would convey the urgency that could not be in her Vulcan tone. â€œPlease keep me informed of your progress.â€

â€œUnderstood.â€

As she turned to go, the comm. link on the wall came alive.

â€œBridge to Subcommander Tâ€™Pol.â€

Sato. Her voice held an upbeat note that seemed out of place under the circumstances. Tâ€™Pol moved to the link. 

â€œYes, Ensign.â€

â€œSubcommander, we have detected the Shuttlepod: on its way back.â€

Tâ€™Pol felt her eyebrows lift. This was unexpected. 

â€œIâ€™m on my way.â€

The Bridge was quiet, with only Mayweather and Sato at their posts. No one sat at tactical, or in the Captainâ€™s chair. That is where Tâ€™Pol headed, proceeding to perch herself on the edge of the seat. 

â€œReport,â€ she said.

â€œThe shuttlepod left the planetâ€™s surface approximately four minutes ago,â€ Mayweather relayed. â€œNo communications from it yet.â€

Tâ€™Pol turned to her left. â€œOpen a channel, Ensign.â€

Hoshi executed the order and gave a silent nod.

â€œBridge to Shuttlepod One.â€ Static was heard through the open link. â€œBridge to Shuttlepod One,â€ Tâ€™Pol repeated. â€œPlease acknowledge. Lieutenant Reed, can you hear me?â€

â€œI can hear you cloud and lear,â€ Reedâ€™s voice rang out. â€œMy ears may not be poshy but theyâ€™re narp.â€ 

A smug laughter followed on the tail of that cryptic comment. Tâ€™Polâ€™s eyebrows did something totally new, taking a plunge and meeting in the middle in a rather human frown.

â€œâ€˜Notâ€¦ pointy but sharpâ€™?â€ Hoshi suggested with a grimace. Her eyes shifted to acknowledge the look of disquiet on Mayweatherâ€™s face. 

â€œYes. Thank you, Ensign,â€ Tâ€™Pol said deadpan. â€œThough I fail to understand why the shape of someoneâ€™s hearing apparatus should have anything to do with its efficiency.â€ But of course since it was now clear that Lieutenant Reed was even less himself than before, the question was redundant.

A low mutter made her turn back to the helm.

â€œSubcommander,â€ Mayweather dragged out pensively. â€œThe Shuttlepod is off course. By as much as five degrees.â€

Tâ€™Pol stood up and went to check the readings on the helm console. Leaning on it on one outstretched arm, she pressed the comm. link and instructed, â€œLieutenant, please adjust your heading, you are not on an intercept course.â€

â€œWhack the hat... the heck... Pâ€™Tol, weâ€™re flyinâ€™ hind... blind, here!â€

Commander Tuckerâ€™s voice. Anxiety was not helping his speech problems.

â€œSelf for yourspeak Commander, my fight may not be serpect but Iâ€™m not blind.â€

And Lieutenant Reedâ€™s. Some things would never change, even with Trispian fever.

â€œI suggest you adjust your course, Mr. Reed,â€ Tâ€™Pol repeated. â€œThat is if you intend to rendezvous with Enterprise.â€

â€œThatâ€™s the plan,â€ Reed replied blithely. â€œUnfortunately the curious are instrumentally unclear.â€

â€œThe instruments are curiously unclear,â€ Hoshi whispered.

Tâ€™Pol heaved a deep breath which betrayed loss of Vulcan poise.

â€œEnsign,â€ she instructed Mayweather. â€œBreak orbit and get the grappler online.â€

A timid smile dawned on the manâ€™s face. â€œI always wanted to be in a rodeo,â€ Mayweather commented, hands already busy carrying out his orders. More thoughtfully he added, â€œThey are going a bit fast. I hope the lines can withstand the pull.â€

Tâ€™Pol secretly agreed. It was something to be desired. The moment she could go to her quarters and meditate would not come too soon.

â€œPursuing the cal... uhm, pod,â€ Mayweather announced a few minutes later, having brought Enterprise on the tail of the runaways. â€œTarget acquired.â€

â€œProceed,â€ Tâ€™Pol ordered.

â€œEnterprise, what in the holly bled you think youâ€™re doing?â€ an outraged voice exclaimed seconds later.

Tâ€™Pol felt a sudden and illogical urge to roll her eyes. â€œHelping you with the docking manoeuvres, Lieutenant.â€ 

A snort from the communication console told her she might have just â€˜crackedâ€™ her first joke.

 

Â§6Â§

Sickbay was beautiful. Trip had never considered just how beautiful sickbay was. Spacious, airy... And Phlox. Phlox was... well, impressive. Even that obnoxious smile of his was a wonderful sight. 

â€œSomething wrong, Commander?â€ the very man asked, his face suddenly falling.

â€œUh, no, Doc. Sorry I was starinâ€™. Itâ€™s just that I never realised what a gift it is to be able to p--- I mean see properly.â€ Trip bit his lip in embarrassment, but Phlox, as the true professional he was, didnâ€™t remark his near blunder. 

A few hours before the Denobulan had administered the newly-synthesized vaccine to the entire crew, but oneâ€™s ability to put the right letters together seemed to take a little longer to be restored than oneâ€™s eyesight.

â€œIndeed,â€ Phlox just commented. Moving to Malcolmâ€™s biobed, he checked the sleeping manâ€™s vitals on the monitor at the head of the bed. Malcolm had been under for Phlox-only-knew how many hours, and Trip was beginning to wonder if heâ€™d ever come round.

â€œHow is Mister I Am Fine?â€ Trip asked with a hint of worry, turning on his side.

â€œI heard you, Commander,â€ a sleepy voice replied. 

Phlox chuckled. â€œA timely reawakening,â€ he said, emptying a hypospray into Malcolmâ€™s neck. â€œHeâ€™s better,â€ he added, to answer Tripâ€™s question. â€œArenâ€™t you, Lieutenant?â€

â€œâ€˜Betterâ€™ would tend to imply that I wasnâ€™t well,â€ Malcolm said, more with it. He cracked his eyes open and turned to focus them directly into Tripâ€™s. â€œIt was you who wasnâ€™t. Despite your bad attempt at teasing, I was just fine.â€ Pausing, he blinked a couple of times as if struck by a sudden thought; then frowned. â€œWhat the hell am I sicking in dobay?â€ His eyes went wide. 

Tripâ€™s mouth curled up. â€œDubai? Youâ€™re definitely not in Dubaiâ€

â€œI mean... doing in sickbay?â€

Trip painted an â€˜isnâ€™t it obviousâ€™ expression on his face, letting Phlox spell things out.

â€œYou succumbed to Trispian fever as well, Lieutenant,â€ the Denobulan said. â€œAmong other things,â€ he added quietly.

There was a pause.

â€œImpossible.â€

Now, this was irritating. â€œAnd just why should it be impossible?â€ Trip bit back. Malcolm and his fine-at-all-costs complex were beginning to get on his nerves. 

â€œSimply because I remember that after I got those plant specimens, despite my...â€ Biting his lip, Malcolm cut himself off. His grey eyes darted to check his left arm. It was bandaged from wrist to elbow.

â€œYes, Lieutenant?â€ both Phlox and Trip prompted, one openly curious, the other somewhat more darkly.

Malcolm cleared his throat. â€œWell, despite... a minor injury,â€ he continued, rushing the words, â€œI remember dragging you all the way to the pod. I couldnâ€™t have done that with Trispian fever.â€

â€œInjury, huh?â€ Trip said, narrowing his eyes. 

â€œWhat are you complaining about?â€ Malcolm countered. â€œI blew us--- flew us back, didnâ€™t I?â€ He bit his lip, wincing. â€œI did, didnâ€™t I?â€

Phlox raised his eyebrows. â€œYou donâ€™t remember, Mr. Reed?â€

Malcolm shrugged. â€œThe last bit is slightly... fuzzy,â€ he admitted quietly.

â€œItâ€™s not surprising: by then you were quite ill.â€ Phlox produced a scanner and passed it over Malcolmâ€™s chest. In a casual voice he asked, â€œThat... minor injury, as you call it: can you tell us what happened?â€ 

Malcolm winced again. â€œIs it really necessary? 

â€œYa bet,â€ Trip said deadpan. â€œYou stubborn S.O.B. left me guessinâ€™, in my feverish and disabled state, what was wrong with ya. Now I demand to know.â€

â€œIt was but a trifle.â€ Malcolm heaved a dramatic sigh. â€œIn my hurry to collect those plants and get back to you, I...â€ He stopped. â€œCanâ€™t I just write it in my report?â€ he asked hopefully. â€œAll right, all right,â€ he reluctantly yielded at Tripâ€™s glare. â€œWell, I didnâ€™t see that under those plants resided a family of flat, slimy and quite revolting worm-like creatures - equipped with rather sharp teeth.â€

â€œLike this one?â€ Phlox dug into his pocket and produced a clear plastic container, which he proceeded to show to Reed.

Trip watched Malcolmâ€™s eyes go wide with surprise. â€œThatâ€™s it!â€ the man exclaimed. â€œWhere did you find it?â€

â€œUnder a leaf on one of the specimens you brought back. I analysed it, and found it contains a substance that on human physiology would have a slow but strong doping effect.â€

â€œYou were high?â€ Trip exclaimed in disbelief. â€œBecause of a worm?â€

Malcolm blinked and turned to Phlox. â€œI was high?â€ he enquired with a grimace.

â€œI suppose you could say that, yes. You certainly didnâ€™t sound like yourself when, to the Subcommander who had ordered you to take medical readings of yourself, you replied â€“ and I quote â€“ nonsense, Iâ€™ve got to go, talk to you later, cheerio.â€

Malcolm winced, hiding behind a hand.

â€œAnd to think I missed that!â€ Trip groaned. 

â€œYou also developed a local reaction to the bite,â€ Phlox continued. â€œYour arm got infected and quite swollen. Last but not least, in the end you caught Trispian fever.â€

â€œOh yes: Iâ€™d say you were real fine,â€ Trip commented, rolling his eyes.

Malcolmâ€™s facial muscles clenched. â€œWell, I got us back in one piece, didnâ€™t I? And I brought back that damn plant,â€ he said peevishly. â€œThere are different shades of fine.â€

Before Trip could tell the man what he thought of that theory, the doors opened to let Archer and Tâ€™Pol in.

â€œCaptain,â€ Phlox said in mild reproach. â€œI thought I had recommended that you rest. Youâ€™re only just over your symptoms.â€

Archer gave him one of his more genial smiles. â€œDonâ€™t worry, Doc, Iâ€™m fine.â€

â€œNot another one,â€ Trip muttered. Grey eyes shot him an incinerating look.

â€œI swear: if Iâ€™d stayed in my quarters another minute youâ€™d have had a mental patient on your hands,â€ Archer went on. â€œEven Porthos was relieved to see me go.â€ Shifting his gaze from one biobed to the other, he enquired, â€œHow are you two feeling?â€

â€œNever better, Captâ€™n,â€ Trip said genuinely.

â€œVery well, Sir,â€ Malcolm echoed, straightening an already straight sheet.

â€œThatâ€™s good to hear.â€ Archer squeezed Malcolmâ€™s shoulder. â€œI want to thank you for what you did, Lieutenant, bringing back that plant. Oh, and Trip,â€ he added, merry eyes resting on the engineer.

â€œMy duty, Captain,â€ Malcolm replied. A smug smile appeared on his lips.

Archerâ€™s eyes fell on his bandaged arm and he frowned. â€œYou hurt yourself?â€

Trip grinned wickedly. â€œHe got bitten by a worm. And it resulted in---â€

â€œIt was nothing, Sir,â€ Malcolm butted in, shooting Trip a rather unfriendly look. But the damage was already done.

â€œA bite? That resulted in what?â€ 

â€œWas that the reason for the Lieutenantâ€™s unusual behaviour?â€ Tâ€™Pol thought well of specifying, speaking for the first time. She latched her hands behind her back, waiting for Phloxâ€™s reply.

Trip watched Malcolm fidget, eyes low, and felt a pang of conscience. After all the man had dragged him to safety. â€œSorry,â€ he mumbled to him.

â€œThe creature contained a drug-like poison that gave the Lieutenant a curious reaction,â€ Phlox began happily, seemingly oblivious to Malcolmâ€™s discomfort. â€œMainly it caused Mister Reed to display lack of control, an unusually light disposition, as well as a peculiar and quite uncharacteristic disregard of form. You see, Captain, the particular substance which that worm---â€

â€œNever mind, Doc, thank you.â€ Archer accompanied the words with a smile that fooled nobody, not even Phlox: it was clear he was relieved to have nipped one of the manâ€™s lengthy explanations in the bud. 

â€œIt will be... interesting to read your report, Lieutenant,â€ the Captain said. â€œWhatever you... uhm, can remember.â€

â€œYes, Sir,â€ Malcolm croaked out, eyes darting to his C.O. and quickly away. â€œIâ€™ll get it done as soon as possible.â€

Tâ€™Pol tilted her head gracefully to one side. â€œIt was fortunate that Mister Mayweather had not fallen ill,â€ she commented, with a lift of her eyebrows. â€œHe was quite proficient in operating the grappler.â€

â€œThe grappler?â€ 

Archer seemed lost again, and Tâ€™Pol looked at him for a moment, as if expecting the man would come to the logical conclusion on his own. When it became clear he was taking a bit too long, she explained, â€œWe had to retrieve the Shuttlepod, which was off course.â€ 

Archer frowned. â€œDoesnâ€™t anybody tell me anything around here any more?â€

Tâ€™Polâ€™s eyebrows soared again, uncomprehendingly. Trip smiled to himself. He was glad he had regained his sight in time to enjoy the exchange between the Captain and their Vulcan SIC. They were always kind of fun.

â€œItâ€™s that in the end Malcolm got Trispian fever as well, Captâ€™n,â€ he came to the rescue. â€œHis sight was compromised and we needed a bit of help to get home.â€ He gave his C.O. a reassuring smile. â€œDonâ€™t worry: we arenâ€™t planning another mutiny.â€

â€œThank you,â€ Archer said deadpan. He turned to Malcolm. â€œIn light of what Iâ€™ve just been told, Lieutenant, your performance of duty was commendable. It will be mentioned in my report to Starfleet.â€

â€œSir, I really did only what I was supposed to,â€ Malcolm mumbled, in obvious unease. â€œIn factâ€¦â€ He cast a nervous glance at Tâ€™Pol. â€œSubcommander, I must apologise for... well...â€

Archer looked between one and the other, head tilted to one side, a puzzled frown in place again.

â€œI am quite relieved you are back to normal, Lieutenant,â€ Tâ€™Pol commented simply.

â€œYes, indeed.â€

â€œCrewman Kolinsky told me she has already planted some of the specimens Mister Reed brought back in the hydroponic bay,â€ Tâ€™Pol announced, changing subject, to Malcolmâ€™s visible relief. She absent-mindedly reached with a hand to wipe off something from Tripâ€™s sheet, at the foot of his bed. â€œShe expects the plants to take root without problems.â€ Rubbing her hand on the sheet again, she frowned. 

Trip turned to Malcolm. The manâ€™s grey eyes had a familiar glint to them, the same that was probably in his own. They both looked at Phlox, and three pairs of assessing eyes shifted back to Tâ€™Pol.

â€œIs anything the matter, Subcommander?â€ Phlox enquired.

â€œIâ€™m fine,â€ Tâ€™Pol said, blinking. â€œHowever, Trispian fever appears to have der--- reduced the efficiency of the laundry crew: there is some sh---â€ 

She cut herself off abruptly, and her eyes for once betrayed an unmistakable dose of concern. 

â€œLint on this sheet,â€ she carefully concluded.

There were coughs and sputters and clearings of throats.

Trip broke into a comforting smile. â€œWelcome to the club.â€


End file.
